EVERYONE STUMBLES, NOT EVERYONE STANDS STRAIGHT
“Penelope, where on earth will you find another man like him? You can always get divorced later. A married woman always has her pick. The responsibility falls on the husband, while a man on the side has no tiesno obligations. Enjoy the foolish mistress while you can. But if you end up alone, no one will look twice at you. Especially with little Arthur growing up. He needs his real father, not some stranger. Theres no sense in what youre doing,” I said, genuinely trying to talk some sense into my childhood friend.
Yet I knew I might as well have been talking to a brick wall. Penelope had already made up her mind.
Life often forces us to choose. There are always two pathsthe right one and any other. But whos to say which doors to open and which to close? Sometimes, even the soundest advice falls on deaf ears. We learn from our mistakes, ignoring the wisdom of those before us. Then comes the regret, the sleepless nights, the endless brooding.
Ive got two close friendsPenelope and Olivia. Weve known each other since we were girls. Penelope was the girl next door, Olivia my schoolmate. We know everything about each other, as only lifelong friends can.
The three of us couldnt be more different, so I keep my friendships with them separate. Once, I tried to bring them together, but it was hopeless. Theyre like oil and water.
“How can you stand that overdressed doll? What could you possibly talk about? Nothing but clothes and married men,” Penelope hissed after meeting Olivia.
“That friend of yours wears necklines down to her navel. A proper tart, if you ask me. Eyes always hunting for a man with a fat wallet. That smile of hers? Fake as a three-pound note. And that botched lip filler? Painfully obvious,” Penelope sniffed, scrutinising Olivia.
Their first meeting was their last. What was meant to be a cosy girls night ended in disaster. I didnt bother trying again.
Over the years, weve had our share of rowsmisunderstandings, silent treatments, reconciliations. You name it.
Now were all pushing forty. Penelope has a son, Olivia a daughter.
Penelopes been divorced for years. It all started so romantically.
She met her ex-husband, Simon, in a café. At the time, he was married with a daughter. Penelope, undeniably striking and unconventional, always turned heads. She stood outfinished art school, sewed her own bold outfits, dreamed of her own business, a loving marriage.
And for a while, she had it all. Then, like snow in spring, it vanished. Mostly by her own doing. Penelope never waited for green lightsshed dash through the amber.
Simon, smitten, left his wife without a second thought. They had a lavish wedding. Then came the daily grind. He adored hereighteen years her senior, he treated her like a princess. “Little Mouse,” he called her. Fancy Paris? Done. A new car? No problem. The latest sewing machine? Yours. Lip fillers? Say no more.
Every whim granted like magic. Not that Simon was a saintno angels walk this earth. He had his gripeswhy wasnt dinner ready? Why the mess? Why the unironed shirts? Penelope would silence him with a kiss, and hed drop it, frying his own eggs, hoovering, ironing.
Penelope was his third wife. Maybe thats why he clung to her, forgiving her domestic shortcomings.
Then Arthur was born. Simon worshipped the boy. Penelope? Less so. She slipped out more often, leaving Arthur with Simon or his mother. With her looks, temptation followed. As her closest friend, I knew all about her affairs. Simon suspected but stayed quiet. Maybe she needed more love, he reasoned.
After eight years, the cracks showed. The infamous seven-year itch? Some couples survive it. Others dont.
By then, Penelope had her own thriving business. Independent, she decided she didnt need Simon. She left, taking Arthur, renting a flat.
“I hate Simon. Useless in bed. I hope some woman snaps him up so hell leave us alone,” she told me.
Well, as they say, where theres a will, theres a way.
Arthur became the battleground. He loved both parents, but with Penelope always working, life with Simonand his doting motherwas calmer. He moved in with his dad.
Penelope was torn between work and motherhood but refused to change. Simon begged her to return, even used Arthur as leverage. She wouldnt budge.
“Bridges burned. Full stop.”
Young, beautiful, and free, Penelope soon had a workplace fling. Never mind that he was married with two kids.
“His wife shouldve kept a closer eye on him. Ill borrow him, then hand him back. No harm done.”
They jetted off to Germany, Greeceall whirlwind romance.
Six months later, she returned him. Simon still called, pleading. It annoyed her. Then came Danielher age, unattached. Love bloomed. He moved in.
But Daniel liked a drink. And struggled to hold down a job.
“Penny, let me help with your business?”
The scales fell.
“Victoria, I think Ive taken in a drunkard freeloader.”
“Kick him out, Penny! Clinging like a tick to a sheep,” I urged.
Then an old classmate called.
“Penny, hope you dont mindme and Simon are getting married. Ive never been happier.”
“Hope you walk the same road forever,” Penelope said flatly.
Now shes alone. Arthurs nineteen, wont speak to her. Calls go unanswered. Once, he picked up.
“Dads new wife raised me. Stick to your business, Mum. Dont call.”
Olivia, though, weathered her storm.
She met Vincent on holiday. He was there with matesdespite having a wife. Why do spouses let each other holiday alone where temptation lurks? Asking for trouble.
Olivia announced her wedding. A destination romance turned grand affaircelebrated in two cities. She moved to his town. We saw less of each other, but I kept up with her life.
Vincent adored her. Built her a house, bought two cars. Their daughter, Evie, arrived. Olivia wanted for nothingdesigner clothes, cosmetics, no need to work. She even got another degree.
At first, she missed home. But she settled, made friends. Life was sweet.
Then, seven years in, Olivia wanted out.
“The loves gone. Cant rekindle it.”
Her parents, Vincent, his motherall baffled. Olivia stayed with her folks, refusing to return.
“Victoria, he bores me to tears. Roses every dayhis thorns prick me more than the stems.”
“Bored, are we? Watch outsomeonell snatch him up.”
Olivias polished, flawlessalways immaculate, drenched in French perfume. Vincents jealousy flared, but she was set on divorce.
Two years of turmoil. Then, a thaw. They reunited. Vincent still works tirelessly to give them everything.
The Maldives, Venice, Italyall stamped in Olivias passport.
Meeting me, she sighed, “I almost lost the best man Ill ever have.”
